


off i go

by buttdog



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Peter, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-TASM2, Swearing, Thor Is Not Stupid, Thor Is a Good Bro, Tony Does What He Wants, Warnings May Change, just btw, peter is a sad emotionally stunted baby, probably alot in the first few chapters, the other members will appear eventually but they haven't yet so i'm not tagging them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttdog/pseuds/buttdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love you. I don't ever want to live without you. You changed my life."</p>
<p>Did you say it? Did you? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Or, Spiderman joins the family, albeit reluctantly.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	off i go

**Author's Note:**

> hiya.
> 
> i hope i am able to nurse this into something worth a read or two.

_This is so not cool, how fucking dare- who the fuck even does that? Absolutely ridiculous, I can't believe, this is sin! This is against god's will! This is against everything I-_

"Peter, get up and turn that silly alarm off!" Aunt May calls from downstairs, probably cooking breakfast or something, pulling him from his angry mind rant. The idea of breakfast spikes his interest, particularly his stomachs, but the tender thought of removing himself from dead bed keeps him there, all snuggly and warm and cute. He doesn't think anything compares to sleeping. Well no, if you really give it an internal debate, there's always gonna pros and cons, y'know? Like, nightmares are a complete con and are super sucky but then there's dream's and sometimes Gwen and Uncle Ben are in those dreams (they're also pretty consistent in his nightmares, but let's not think about that) and it's kind of like playing house in his own head.

"Peter!" Aunt May screams, properly this time. He jolts up, smashing his alarm clock with his fist. Ah, not good. He shrugs, however, deciding to worry about it later on. A yawn ripples through him and the dawning realization that he is no longer cozied up in his snuggle den is literally soul crushing that a phantom lumps forms in his throat because you know not being in bed is something to sob over. Sighing, he casts a glance over his room, biting his lip over the phrase 'did a bomb go off in here?!' that Aunt May will say the moment she opens the door. Not good. Again, he sweeps his worries to the trash compactor of his mind and goes for a shower.

The water is warm like his bed. That's all that matters.

After dressing himself appropriately he bounds downstairs, the smell of waffles wafting throughout the lower level of the house. Aunt May is sitting at the bar, lips pursed in concentration as she stares holes into whatever game she's playing on the newspaper. He collects two waffles and joins her at the bar, applying chocolate spread to one of them. She looks up, an eyebrow raised. He smiles. "Mornin'." he chomps down on the first, grinning like a fool. May gently lays the newspaper down, then removes her glasses so purposefully slow that Peter stops smiling, gently placing them on top of the paper. She presses her lips together, finally looking at him.

"Would you like to explain why you were so late home last night?" she says. Spider Man faces foes on a daily basis, but none will ever compare to the wrath of May Parker. Peter blanches, searching for an excuse.

Typically, this the point where his skin begins to crawl with the aura of imminent danger. He doesn't always appreciate his spidey sense, but it ain't all bad. "I have to go." he says, shoving his second waffle haphazardly into his mouth and grabbing his bag from atop the cofee table on the way out.

"Peter! Peter Parker, you stay here right now!" May demands, following him as he zip zaps across the room, retrieving his house keys and putting on his shoes. He will probably be lectured when he gets home. Oh well. He's got his duties.

"Super sorry Aunt May, I just gotta- things to do- people to see, you get my drift?" he is still rambling even after he has fled down the street. He transitions into his costume in a back alley, then follows the sense.

It takes him to Stark Tower, where a legion of creepy looking robotic frogs are wreaking havoc across the city.

"Cute." he says, before making his grand entrance to the scene. Immediately, the first offender of badly created skeletal robot form amphibian wraps its jagged tongue around his chest, tearing suit and skin and okay maybe he should tone down his ego a little. His right arm, still connected to his webbing, lurches back. His sight flashes white for a split second before flaring back, then disappearing again when his head makes blunt impact with the lip of its metal mouth.

"Ow, fuck."

The inners of the mouth is worse. The teeth are sparse, and dull, and the crunch of metal grinding vibrates through the opposite of both concave lids. He feels just like a spider in the bite of it's prey, which might be ironic. He's paralyzed and being eating alive, so great, love life, this is my favorite day ever. And then the upper jaw flies away, a moment of sunlight shafting over him until the body of the decapitated creature collapses. Peter rolls over, feeling like a tortured soul. All he wanted to do was help out the stupid Avengers.

"Are you well, Man of Spiders?"

He glances upward to the overly concerned face of the Asgardian, the sheer mass of beautiful golden locks distracting him from his ailments.

"Yeah, sure, sure." he mumbles, blinking hard in the effort of turning on to his back.

"Friend Tony, I am in need on your assistance down below." Thor bellows, one hand pressed to his ear. "Yes. Yes. Friend Tony! YEs!" Peter watches this unfold in mild fascination. Probably keeps him breathing.

He is so embarrassed. Whether he is flushing or his body is going into shock, he doesn't know. Thor grins at him. "You're like the sun." he says, out loud. Thor's grin widens.

"You are similar to an arachnid." Thor throws back, eyebrow raised, hands on hips and looking sassy and fabulous as ever. "And very small like one too."

"Offense." Peter mumbles, pouting under the mask. Thor's laugh is like wedding bells and Peter will happily walk down the aisle. "You're huge, like the sun."

"You are likeable, Man of Spiders. You would get along well with-" Ironman clunks down by Thor, the face of his helmet retracted to reveal the disinterested face of Mr Tony Stark himself. Huh, I guess he really is the Ironman. Huh. Huuuuuh.

"Kid, shut up." he grouses. "JARVIS, vitals please." he says, around a sigh. Peter isn't really listening anymore. The pounding in his head has plugged his senses momentarily, leaving him deaf to the world and those around him. Remember Peter, love life.

"Deep lacerations across the chest. 4 broken ribs. Punctured lung. Clean collar break. Fractured larynx. Blood loss, severe. Concussion."

JARVIS' voice is a sharp constant in the haze that has consumed his brain, the impending voice of the AI layering over the bouts of dialogue that dance mysteriously around his ears. If it weren't for the promise of agony, he'd deem it all a bad dream. But this is real, the red and gold blob of Ironman shielding his confused eyes from the sun with his obnoxious looming form, instructing his AI to register injuries then vitals and then whatever, because his words become lost in the muffle of Peter's reality disconnection. Another tone of mumbling, deeper and more authoritative, joins the white noise, but even in his near catatonic state, he can still make a guess that it's Captain America. The volume of voice rises, in which he presumes is an argument. Once again, JARVIS' reassuring voice out rules all.

"May I suggest transporting Spiderman to the medical bay within the tower, Sir? Civilian hospitals will most likely not be prepared to treat advanced humans."

At these words, the subdued chatter dies out into the occasional statement.

This is when the pain swaggers in, and so do his senses. Everything stinks for starters, like shit. Why the fuck is it so damn sunny? He literally just got mauled by a robotic frog and the world's freaking shining. The delightful taste of copper alerts his taste buds, and oh god...his hearing. The white noise is still there but the voices have transformed into reliable sentences and every single syllable causes his brain to swell in his head. He must make his discomfort vocal, because both males surge forward like mother hens, hands fluttering over whatever injuries he's sustained.

"Hey Spidey." Ironman supplies, flashing a smile.

"Was-sup." he heaves out, hoarse, head rolling to one side and smushing into rubble. Not nice. Sure, not as bad as the chaos of nerves carving scars in his body, but hey, his face is a great asset. How's he gonna give the news to Aunt May? Yes, I did survive being a froggy chew toy, but unfortunately they could not remove the rocks imprinted into my temple. It's a real tragedy. Then, the rocks drop from his face and the ground falls away to red, and he realizes Ironman's just lifted him bridal style. A few whimpers tumble out his mouth at the sudden jolt, a list of afflictions building in his mind like one of those self diagnosis forums, until his resolve gives and he cries out.

"Hey, hey, you're okay bud. No need for hysterics." Ironman tinny voice bounces around in his skull leaving him a gasping mess, and then he can't breathe. Ah, collapsed lung. He is truly aware of every spike of pain, from his head to his chest, the crook of his knees where the Ironman armor is digging in to. His entire being is burning.

"Let me go." he grounds out, using his fully functional arm to knock back Ironman's dumb face. His helmet does ricochet but he merely lifts in again, and even with the emotionless expression of the armor, he can sense the bitch face underneath. His chest convulses and he is yet again reminded of the problem.

"How are you even still talking?"

"I'm a spiderman." he replies, lamely. Ironman hums.

"Right," he drawls, distracted, "Well, if I'm not needed here, looks like I'm on Spidey duty. Great."

His chest tightens considerably, _tension pneumothorax_ , he thinks, which is definitely not good. The air hitches in his throat and it feels like there's a Hulk family taking residence on top of him, the black fuzzies that indicate imminent unconsciousness begin floating around his vision. Nothing is good. The world is cruel."Sh'up." is his last coherent wording, before the sun and shine and glow of Ironman blips away into a void of muted pain.

To think, just 45 minutes ago, he was eating waffle. Ah, whatever. Time to sleep.

 _Thank the lord_.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the read!:DDDDDDD


End file.
